


One Step Closer

by sweetlolixo



Series: A Letter for XX [2]
Category: the GazettE
Genre: Alternate Universe - Guardian Angel/Reincarnation, Corny Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 01:36:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7200140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetlolixo/pseuds/sweetlolixo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a simple midnight in Paris, but everything changes in a split second when a struggling artist finds himself stumbling into the arms of the man he's taken care of all these while. Maybe your brightest star can come back, after all. Even someone you've never met, someone that has been erased. Maybe your mortal will always be around. Even someone you've long forgotten, someone who has taken time away. Maybe hearts will still beat, and fingers will still intertwine; and maybe people who lose each other... never really <em>do</em> lose each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Step Closer

**Author's Note:**

> Fic originally posted onto LiveJournal [here](http://sweetlolixo.livejournal.com/142397.html#cutid1) on Dec 20, 2011.
> 
> Song Inspiration: [A Thousand Years / Christina Perri](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rtOvBOTyX00)

      
  
      
credit to my bff [mittilla](http://mittilla.tumblr.com) for these ♥

~  
  
_Heart beats fast  
  
Colors  
  
and  
  
promises_  
  
~  
  
It's time. Uruha half yawns, rubs at his eyes sorely, then glances to the clock again. His midnight shift is over. _Finally_. It's three in the morning now, and he'd been forced to take over Reita's shift tonight _again_. Well, not like Uruha had anything better to do with his time, anyway. The struggling artist spent most of his time on the streets, painting works that no galleries would accept, drinking away rich alcohol he couldn't afford, and making a quick buck or two by drawing the occasional tourist who wanted their self-portraits against the beautiful lights in Paris.  
  
Uruha can't quite recall what he'd been doing in the first half of his life; he just vaguely remembers finishing his time in art college, and then buying a ticket to the city of love in hopes of becoming a successful artist – “You move worlds” or so they had said – only to be rejected again, and again; time, after time, until it had gotten too much, until Uruha had lost all hope, and he had no shame to return home after all the hopes his family and friends had pinned unto him, and so he had remained here, settling as a bartender in the quieter clubs around here, spending most of his time tracing drawings against the empty tables and amusing himself with making music with the wine glasses.  
  
He has no purpose now. Uruha knows that, but he constantly feels like he used to have one, albeit this being the only life he has. Maybe all the hopes and inspiration he had before deluded himself into thinking he used to belong to _something_ , but now that everything's crashed down against him, there's no more weight left on his shoulders. Or maybe the weight doubled; Uruha doesn't know, but he doesn't really want to bother, anyway. His brush and strokes were all he needed. Colors, and wine. He likes to delude himself into thinking this is the perfect life; barely getting by, getting chased out of his cramped apartment every other month when he couldn't afford rent, going hungry with nothing but liquor in his stomach, and paintings on empty canvases that he dreamed would take flight, someday.  
  
Uruha could take flight someday.  
  
The funny thing is, Uruha feels like he _used_ to. He used to take flight, he used to be able to feel _something_ , he used to be able to know what to do, he used to be able to...  
  
Hm. Uruha stops himself again, when he realises he's done nothing in the past hour but lie against the counter, an empty wine glass in hand, a wrung rag in the other. No customers again today; well, Uruha didn't expect any, anyway. He's lost himself in yet another daydream, another pathetic, worthless evaluation of himself, and he hates it when his mind subconsciously does that to him. He held too much pride to _ever_ admit to anyone he needs help, and the closest friend he had around here to him was probably Reita, who Uruha rarely saw around anyway. That man was constantly skipping out on his shifts and disappearing to god-knows-where, but not like Uruha was complaining. He rather needed the extra pay his OT gave him, and besides; it gave him things to do, to preoccupy his thoughts, to take away the burning thought that he was useless, or alone.  
  
Time to pack up? Uruha gazes down his glass, and stares at the reflection of a man who has lost his ultimate purpose. No, maybe he'll have another drink. Just to clear the thoughts away. At least he could stumble his way home drunk. At least he needn't paint, again, till the wee hours of the morning, thinking this was going to be his ultimate breakthrough for him.  
  
~  
  
Aoi can't quite recall what he's doing here. They told him he needed to be at his son's graduation ceremony, which Aoi finds quite atrocious to attend since he's barely five, but his wife had yelled at him over the office phone enough times to get it inside Aoi's head that he needed to get back to Paris in two weeks, or _else_. Aoi can't even remember his way around here; he's spent most of his last two years residing in his company's newly-opened branch in Shanghai, coming back only for the holidays, and he's long forgotten the way around his supposed home. Or just anywhere outside the office, really.  
  
He hadn't alerted his wife he would be coming back today. Definitely no lavishly planned party he wanted thrown for him, when all he wanted was just a comfy bed to sleep on, and no wife with peeling cucumber masks or screaming children to welcome him. Not that he had anything against his family, or _anything_ , just... Aoi had _priorities_. And priorities meant working, and trying to get away from life. Priorities meant trying to give his family a good life, in return for the love they couldn't ever get. Aoi knows he's never loved his wife; he hadn't been able to love properly ever since he was nineteen. He's in his early thirties now, but he knows he never once grew up from the young child he used to be. He's never grown up, because he's never learned to be brave, or strong, because of _him_.  
  
Aoi feels like maybe _he_ had ruined him. His name; Kouyou, was that it? Aoi doesn't need to lie to himself, though. He's read that letter enough amount of times to know very clearly every inch of his writing, and the way he signed his name. Kouyou, Aoi mouthes, and he feels his heart constrict a little again. Kouyou was right. Aoi's memory of him had been erased that very night, but Heaven had left the gift of Kouyou's letter to him. They hadn't taken it away.  
  
Aoi had seen the brightest star that night, but he couldn't find it any other nights from then on. As desperately as he searched, as hard as he could find, as far as he travelled, no matter where; the stars all looked the same. Dull, and tired. There was no one star he could define as Kouyou; there was no one star he could _feel_ was his heart, and there was no one star that told him he was there, for him.  
  
Maybe Heaven took his wings away.  
  
Aoi looks to his fingers, and sigh, when he realises it's freezing in this cold weather. His head feels heavy, and it's three in the morning, already. All he wants now is to head to his hotel suite, and sleep the rest of the morning away. Maybe take a walk around Paris or two when he got up; he definitely missed the fresh air here. He grips his luggage in his hands, and raises a hand out on the street, flagging a cab.  
  
~  
  
Uruha's drunk. _Definitely_. Uruha's giggling to himself now, brandishing his fingers wildly in the air and brushing invisible strokes against the chilly wind. Maybe he would pass out drunk halfway on the streets, and someone would find him, and mug him, and _kill_ him. Uruha would love that, really. What beautiful art. Maybe it could be a beautiful serial killer, mutilating his body and hanging his insides on the wall, painting him in the crimson color of blood.  
  
Uruha shakes his head, clearing his vision of blurred tears when he realises his thoughts have transported him too far again. No, no thinking of death, Uruha. He warns himself, wagging his fingers to no one in particular at all, laughing as he does so. He dances his way through the dark streets, litted up only by side street lamps that cast too harsh a light ray into his eyes. It's burning, Uruha yells, but there's only silence that responds. Why can't anyone tell that I'm burning? I'm dying, Uruha yells again, and this time, someone throws a pan out of their apartment window as a gift. Uruha dodges it barely, cackling as he does so, taunting the resident further in his bad aiming. He isn't so lucky when the eggs come gushing, though, they splatter him right on the head and drench him in a mess.  
  
Uruha shuts his eyes and breathes in heavily, the cold sensation of the sticky yolk falling all over his hair, staining them, then his arms, and legs, in a subsequent splatter. At least I'm blonde, Uruha huffs, and he folds his arms, teeth chattering when he realises he's getting cold, too cold for his own good. It's bad enough he's too lightly clothed in this weather, and now, eggs to add on with it. I can make a good meal for someone, Uruha says, but he knows there's no one to listen.  
  
He's almost grateful when he sees a cab pulling up next to him, because he doesn't feel like walking anymore and he wants to collapse somewhere and cry his lungs out, but then he realises he has no money anyway, and french cab drivers are stingy. He finds himself falling against the wall nearby, his legs weak and trembling, watching in envy as a person emerges from the expensive looking cab, heavily clothed in rich and warm clothing. Even his hair is pretty, Uruha pouts, and his fingers instinctively reach for his own ones and twirl with them absentmindedly. Mine is drenched in egg yolk.  
  
The man is getting his luggage out from the back of the cab, and Uruha doesn't know why he's so fascinated suddenly, watching the man with maximum interest. He looks like the type that has everything going for him in his life, Uruha thinks, and he feels so helpless, suddenly. He looks like he'd have a warm home to come back to, he looks like he'd enjoy the work he was doing, and he looks like he'd have a future secured, and he could have wings that would take him anywhere.  
  
Uruha doesn't think much, and he can't quite recall what he does next.  
  
He just remembers whispering, please save me, and sinking into the warmth he needed all these while.  
  
~  
  
_How to be brave  
  
How can I love when I'm afraid to fall_  
  
~  
  
“Hey... are you okay? Sir? _Monsieur_? Are you okay?”  
  
When Uruha stirs, he finds himself cleaned up, lying against really comfortable mattresses and silky sheets that he hadn't felt in a long, _long_ time. And when the throbbing pain hits him, he finds himself wishing he hadn't taken that second glass. _Fuck_ , bad hangover. But that's the least of his worries now, because as he shuts his eyes open, he stares back into a pair of raven black orbs, ones that send tingles down his spine. Uruha's first reaction is to laugh, believing he's dreaming again, and fall back against the sheets, clawing at them desperately so they wouldn't go away so soon.  
  
“Ahh, please don't take these away from me,” Uruha moans, _practically_ humping the sheets and roaming his hands desperately around them. “Take the handsome man, I just want the bed.”  
  
There's a low chuckle, and then a really soft touch pressed against his forehead. Uruha widens his eyes almost immediately, because there's a strange tingle rousing in him again, and this time it's closer to his heart, and Uruha finds himself leaning in more for this touch.  
  
“You're having a fever,” even his voice is gentle and comforting, and Uruha hears his heartbeat resonate to every word he's saying. “Are you a student? You're lucky I found you, the streets of Paris can get really dangerous when you're alone and as young as you are.”  
  
Uruha finds himself blushing to his every word, and he shakes his head, when he realises this may just be real (since he was having one of the worst headaches in his life) and that some strange (albet really good looking) man had brought him into his care in his seemingly drunk state. What had Uruha been doing again? Ah... as he stirs his mind up, trying to remember, he feels blocks of bricks hitting at him at every angle in his head, and he decides maybe he might do better off not trying to force things into his mind.  
  
And he thought he was a _student_? Uruha laughs at that, when he knows he's far beyond that. More like in his mid-twenties, but Uruha had always looked young, anyway. Too young for his own good. Maybe that's why everyone constantly rejected him; new artists were never really worth much. And as soon as they saw your resume; as soon as they realised you were fresh off college, they deemed you as inexperienced, invaluable, having no foresights to see in this complicated art industry of theirs. And then Uruha had wasted his subsequent years away, waiting for his death date to near him each time.  
  
“I'm not young,” Uruha mutters, embarrassed, raising his head to gaze up at the stranger again. He really looks really good, Uruha thinks, and then flushes when he realises what he's thinking. The man looks strangely beautiful, but more beautiful in a way that brings familiarity to him; like the way some times looking at things brought inspiration to him; like the way they made his heart pound, and brought to him a delirious rush that made him excited, in a way they managed to bring him his past wings, ones that painted themselves across empty sheets of paper.  
  
“Oh, I'm sorry – ”  
  
“I'm alone, though,” Uruha says, and he realises _maybe_ he shouldn't have said that, because this is a complete stranger, and probably a serial killer at that. But he suddenly feels happy again, and there's a warmth that fills him when he lays his eyes upon the raven man. “I'm alone, so I would appreciate it if you stayed for awhile.” And he looks to the man's touch against his forehead, and watches as the man draws his fingers away quickly, abashed.  
  
“Ah... this _is_ my hotel room, naturally I'm staying,” the man nervously laughs, and though what he's saying may come off as harsh, demanding – even, but the way he speaks is refined and polite, as if _he_ ' _s_ the guest and Uruha is the host, instead. “You are welcome to stay, though. Would you like some panadol? I bring some wherever I go.”  
  
“My name is Uruha,” Uruha introduces, barely registering the other man's words. He knows it's rude to do so, especially to someone who was offering him a place to stay tonight (a lavish one, too) and medicine, even, but he feels so frightened suddenly, because each passing moment reminds him just how fast this can go away, and he doesn't want to let it go that easily. “What's yours?”  
  
The man hesitates for a second, which sinks Uruha's heart, then nods his head away. “Aoi.”  
  
“Not your real name.” Uruha registers immediately, oozing with disappointment. “You don't trust me?”  
  
“No, it's not that,” Aoi laughs, smiling. “I can't let people know I'm here.”  
  
“You're famous?” Uruha quirks an eyebrow, sending a grin in half disbelief. “Do I get money if I go to a tabloid and tell them I slept with you?”  
  
Aoi shoots him an amused look, then shakes his head. “Do you regularly do this to people? Fall into their arms, half drunk, looking like an innocent angel... and then waking up and making the person that helped you think, 'Ah, I'm fucked'?”  
  
“No,” Uruha curves his lips into a smirk, upon realisation the raven had called him 'angel'. “I only do it to good looking people.”  
  
“Ah... okay.” Aoi's blushing again, looking away fervently in a bid to hide himself. He doesn't know why he's blushing so much, because he isn't usually this shy, not even around his wife. But the way this blonde was making him feel was _strange_ , more than strange, as if he had _wings_. As if his heart... “Do I know you, by the way?”  
  
No, Uruha had wanted to reply instantly, but then he halts for a second, staring at Aoi, taking in all that he has, and realises maybe that's not the answer, because his heart is telling him otherwise even though his head is saying so.  
  
“If you're famous, maybe I saw you somewhere...” Uruha says, coming up with the only reasonable explanation he could think of. He ponders for a moment longer, then gapes when he realises he may just have rejected an offer for _something_. “Wait, were you hitting on me? In which case I would reply, yes, I have definitely seen you as the perfect angel in my dreams.”  
  
“No,” Aoi stifles his laughter, waving his hands about. “I just thought... For a _split_ second... that I knew you. But I think it's just me...”  
  
I feel that way too, Uruha thinks, but he doesn't say it out loud, in case Aoi thinks he's a further creep than he is. “Maybe it's a sign,” he says, and as Aoi laughs yet again, Uruha realises he's not joking this time round. Because it really does feel like a sign, and because Aoi is too familiar to him, too familiar for his own good, and too out of reach.  
  
~  
  
They spend the whole evening talking, and by the time night falls, Uruha is convinced he's in love.  
  
I'm fucked, Uruha thinks, when he lays back down against the bed, trying to fall asleep to the light hums of Aoi's as he's deep into sleep, lying just next to the blonde on the widespread bed. Uruha knows Aoi is older than him, and if he claims he's as famous as he says to be, then he _definitely_ was out of reach for a poor artist like him. Uruha has never fallen in love _this_ easily; he's never just _talked_ to someone, and then felt his heart lift like that. He's addicted to the way Aoi's hair falls against his eyes when he speaks to him, the way he laughs nervously when he's too flustered by Uruha's straightforward compliments, the way his voice just makes Uruha weak and the way his touches make him feel so safe, secure, and most importantly? Not alone. At least not for this moment; not with him. Even if Aoi's name wasn't real; even if he knew Aoi still registered boundaries with him.  
  
Well, his boundary limit was as good as fucked then, if Aoi let strangers sleep with him in the bed. There's a kindhearted way to Aoi that Uruha's never realised in other people; Aoi's gentle, warm, patient, and ultimately gorgeous and _perfect_. Uruha was beginning to feel like every breath he took was for him, and that wasn't good.  
  
That was _really_ bad.  
  
He needn't get too attached to anyone here. Aoi wasn't for him, anyway. Uruha doesn't think he would like to pull anyone down with him, someone who has no longer any direction in life, someone who doesn't deserve a man like that.  
  
As the hours go by, Uruha finds himself gazing down upon the sleeping raven figure, memorising the rhythm of his breaths and the way he sighs and sings the most beautiful tune as he's asleep. Uruha almost lowers his lips to the man's forehead, because he suddenly looked so fragile, so _helpless_ , then, as if he needed someone to take care of him, and Uruha feels this overwhelming sense of protectiveness again, this odd rush that exhilarates him each time he lay his eyes upon the raven.  
  
But Uruha stops himself quickly, and pulls back. No, no un-necessary attachments. Not for him. If Uruha couldn't even settle his own life...  
  
“Goodbye, sleeping beauty,” Uruha whispers, and he allows his hand to fall against Aoi's hair, stroking it delicately as he does so. He lingers for another minute or so, his heart softening with ease, before getting up from the bedside, and without a second glance; turned away, heading for the door.  
  
~  
  
Uruha spends the remainder of his day furiously painting at the canvas. His nose, his lips, his eyes, Uruha remembers, the way he sleeps, the way his lips are curved into a pout each time, the way his hair frames his beautifully pale face, the way he made him feel like he had _wings_. The way he seemed like the perfect angel to him; Uruha dictated everything he felt into the painting. He wanted it to be perfect; it was the only gift the kind man had left him, afterall. A lingering memory of him, too precious to be used, but too tragic too be discarded.  
  
I feel like I have known you my whole life, Uruha murmurs, raising his brush up high, allowing the drops to fall against his work, one by one, the colors giving shape to his masterpiece.  
  
Something's missing, Uruha thinks, when he looks upon the painting, analysing it once more. Aoi is _perfect_ , but one little detail is off, and I don't know what it is. He doesn't have time to be frustrated, though, because he's off for his late shift in the bar again.  
  
~  
  
When Aoi wakes up, and finds no one beside him, he _doesn't_ know why there's this aching hole in his heart. He should have known; people in Paris were scumbags like these.  
  
He really wished the man could have stayed longer, though. Uruha, was that it? Aoi shakes his head, trying to clear it, when he realises what he's thinking. No, he's here for his son's graduation ceremony, not get _too_ involved with someone else...  
  
The strange thing, though, is that... the feeling he gets whenever he gazes upon Uruha; is the same feeling he had gotten that very night, staring up at the sky and noticing the brightest star.  
  
Maybe this is Kouyou's gift for me, Aoi says, almost hopeful, until he realises what he's saying again.  
  
~  
  
_And all along I believed I would find you_  
  
~  
  
As usual, the customers that come in are bare minimum, and Uruha squanders most of his time staring into space, again. This time, it's not to self-evaluate his worthless life, though. It's about that stranger, who he hadn't even known his real name, anyway. It's about someone who's captured his heart, only for Uruha to leave him at his best. He doesn't want to ruin anything about him; definitely not with _himself_. But as the hours go on, he finds his heart growing heavier, or maybe it's growing lighter, and emptier, with the loss he's feeling deep in his heart like this.  
  
Fate must be telling him otherwise, though, because his eyes _weren't_ playing tricks on him when he watches that exact man in his thoughts pass through the doors, and enter the bar, loosening his drenched coat and turning up in more casual clothing, this time. Oh, _well_ , Uruha suddenly vaguely recalls him telling Aoi where he worked at last night. So much for fate, Uruha rolls his eyes. Well, Uruha doesn't know if he should hide or openly call for him – had he no shame of running out on his host without a proper goodbye?! – but he realises he doesn't need to think any further, when Aoi catches sight of him instantly and heads over to the empty counter.  
  
“Would you...” Uruha can barely force words out, his eyes bulging in bewilderment, but he tries his hardest anyway. “Like a... drink?”  
  
“Why did you leave?” And Aoi says it in such an impatient, crossed manner, folding his arms and frowning, resembling just like a little child as he does so, and Uruha can't help but laugh at his attempt to look angered. Aoi definitely wasn't _that_ type of person, Uruha can tell, and he feels like running his fingers through his silky hair again.  
  
“Um... drink's on me today,” Uruha says, ignoring the man, and he turns away, reaching for a random bottle of alcohol. He didn't think Aoi would have cared if Uruha left or not; he was just a stranger, a worthless one stranded on the streets, wasn't he?  
  
“I _asked_ you why did you leave!” Aoi growls, and Uruha knows he's serious now, because Aoi's gripping hard on Uruha's arm, and not letting go. Uruha feels sorry, suddenly, when he realises maybe Aoi had been devastated when he had woken up and found himself alone.  
  
“I was thinking maybe I was starting to love you,” Uruha says, bluntly, and truthfully, because he knows there's no other reason to cover up otherwise. He averts his gaze, embarrassed, and realises Aoi has gone silent, as well. “I don't usually do this, you know. I don't get drunk and make people offer me their hotel suite. I _definitely_ didn't want to implicate you on purpose. So I apologise, for that.”  
  
Aoi lowers his eyes, then gradually withdraws his hold from Uruha, reaching to wrap his arms around his chest again, cold. He takes a seat opposite Uruha, but still doesn't lift his eyes to meet him, as if afraid if he _did_ so, he would...  
  
“Apology unaccepted,” Aoi finally whispers, his voice hollow this time. “You _don't_ run out on people like that, Kouyou. You would have stayed and taken care of me.”  
  
“I would,” Uruha dilates his eyes, and it takes a moment for him to realise that Aoi hadn't called him by name. “Aoi?”  
  
“I feel kind of fucked up,” Aoi murmurs, and he lays his head down against the counter, burying it in his hands. “I feel like I fucked up, Kou. Can you tell me what to do?”  
  
“My name is Uruha – ” Uruha protests, but he stops when he realises Aoi seems desperate, and in need of help, now. And he doesn't want to make the raven man feel alone. “What would you like me to do?”  
  
“Hey, when does your shift end?” Aoi asks spontaneously, raising his head again, and his eyes bore into Uruha's pleadingly, as if he's afraid to be rejected. “What do you do in the day? Can you give me a tour around Paris? I haven't been here in years.” Suddenly Aoi questions what he is doing, but he knows he _wants_ to have this blonde by his side for just awhile longer, and he doesn't want to let this go so soon.  
  
“Is that a date?” Uruha jokes, laughing, but he stills when he realises Aoi is still waiting for an answer. “Yes.”  
  
“Yes,” Aoi says, and suddenly Uruha wonders if Aoi is replying to him now, or just echoing his answer. “See you at the front of the tower at twelve noon?”  
  
“Definitely,” Uruha smiles, and he pours Aoi a drink, wasting yet another night in the presence of the other.  
  
~  
  
When Uruha lays his fingers against the painting again, he realises what he's missing now.  
  
_Wings_ , Uruha echoes, reaching for his color palette and brushes.  
  
_He definitely has wings._  
  
~  
  
When Aoi reaches the school early in the morning for his son's graduation ceremony, he barely escapes from the surprised clutches of his wife's hands for a tight hug; he barely whisks away with the excuse of wanting to go the bathroom. He sighs, when he questions himself what he really is doing here, again. His wife was enamoured greatly by him, but Aoi felt nothing for the small petite brunette at all. But he knows he has to get through every phase of life doing things the way his parents expected him to, and getting into an arranged marriage with Mizuki had seemed the best plan, then.  
  
Even though Mizuki had never made him feel the way a certain blonde _did_...  
  
He loves his son whole-heartedly, though, and when he finally emerges from the bathroom to watch his son in all his unified glory ascend unto the stage, he feels an immense pride coming over him. He really does take after his father, he can hear his wife's sweet chirp in his ear, and Aoi does nothing but nod, even though his thoughts are now slowly being filled with the blonde's, and as he settles back down against the seat, he finds himself staring at the clock, waiting for time to pass as soon as possible.  
  
~  
  
_Darlin' don't be afraid I have loved you for a thousand years_  
  
~  
  
Uruha's early. He knows, but he _can't_ wait. He must have spent at least an hour gelling his hair in front of the mirror, and then putting on cologne and breathspray – just in case, you _know_ – and found himself making his way to the front of the Eiffel Tower, waiting patiently for Aoi to grace him with his presence again. Suddenly Uruha feels so self-conscious, when he realises just how starking a contrast both of them were. They didn't fit, but surprisingly both _needed_ each other in a way that Uruha couldn't comprehend. Uruha doesn't _exactly_ know how Aoi feels about him, but Aoi _hadn't_ rejected him outrightly, either.  
  
And that gave Uruha just the right amount of hope he needed.  
  
When he catches sight of the raven man transcending from the steps, heading towards him, Uruha can't help but break into a shy smile when he realises what they're both doing. They were on a date, _right_? Suddenly Uruha feels like he's found a purpose, again, after all he's suffered through as a poor artist here. He may have given up on art, but now he had something new to look forward to.  
  
“Sorry I'm late,” Aoi apologises profusely, hurrying as he nears the blonde. “I was taking a walk, and lost track of time.”  
  
“ _Il n'y a une problème, Monsieur_. I was early,” Uruha placates, shaking his head. “So, where would you like to go?”  
  
“Anything,” Aoi smiles, nodding away. “Anything, you decide. I don't know any good place around here; I haven't really resided in Paris, really. I'm a tourist today,” he laughs nervously.  
  
Uruha likes the way Aoi does that, cup his fingers over his mouth as if he's embarrassed to be feeling this way.  
  
“Maybe the museum,” Uruha suggests, never taking his eyes off the raven, and Aoi agrees quickly.  
  
~  
  
They spend the day at one museum after another, and soon enough they're exhausted by the time evening falls. Uruha doesn't complain, though, because he realises he's falling even more in love with Aoi as time goes by. Uruha feels like Aoi must be cruel to do _this_ to him, to constantly surprise him with every little part of him, refreshing him and giving him emotions he hadn't felt in such a long time. Like the way Aoi allows Uruha to tuck his hair behind his ears when they fall over his eyes, and block those gorgeous black orbs from Uruha's view. Or like the way Aoi laughs each time when Uruha tries to crack a joke, or when he messes up with the history of a certain monument; and maybe the way Aoi smiles softly at him, as if he's grateful Uruha is here, as if he feels the same way Uruha does.  
  
By the time they're done, Aoi's whining already, and Uruha's finds amusement in how childlike the older man is, when clearly _he_ should be the one in control here.  
  
“I'm hungry,” Aoi complains, and Uruha finds himself quickly attending to that.  
  
“What would you like to eat?” Uruha offers, and his cheeks redden when Aoi hums lightly to himself and his hand slips against Uruha's palm, whisking him off down unfamiliar streets and alleys.  
  
Aoi stops abruptly in front of a rather secluded cafe, just opening right up in front of the Seine River, the waterway that flows through the city of Paris. Uruha almost wonders if Aoi plans to ask him to join him for a cruise down the romantic walkway, and he wanted to ask, too, but he decides against it, because he doesn't want to push the raven to any thing he doesn't want to. He would like that, though. He would really love to do such a thing with Aoi. He had gone on a ride, _once_ , when he had just entered Paris, but then he hadn't any time for that sort of thing now. No sort of suitable company, either.  
  
“Let's have a meal here,” Aoi says, smiling as he does so, turning to Uruha, and Uruha allows Aoi to take his hand once more, bringing him in to the small restaurant, taking a table that just lies against the riverway of Paris.  
  
Uruha plants his elbows against the porcelain table, resting his head on his palms as he gazes at the raven. The wind is rather chilly now, but Uruha doesn't feel any of it, too busy basking in the warmth of those twinkling dark eyes. Aoi catches sight of Uruha watching him again, and he's quick to turn away, startled.  
  
“Don't stare like that,” Aoi brushes him off, tightening his scarf around his neck, but Uruha catches a slight smile playing on his lips.  
  
“Does it make you uncomfortable?” Uruha teases, and Aoi's cheeks turn peach pink immediately.  
  
“I like the scenery here,” Aoi ignores his question, looking down at the clear waters over the high railings and watching his own reflection reflect back unto him. “Makes you feel like nothing else matters, doesn't it?”  
  
“You've been here before?”  
  
“Yeah,” Aoi nods, “Just one of the few places I've been to before I left Paris.”  
  
“What do you do, _exactly_?” Uruha laughs, curiousity getting the better of him. As much time as they had spent together in the past few days, he hadn't really learned much of the raven's background, yet, even though Uruha had let slip vaguely that he was an artist, and juggled a part time job as a bartender already. And he wants to learn so much more about Aoi, just so he can replace this distant memory of his with a most distinguishable, distinctive one.  
  
“Not much,” Aoi shakes his head, playing off the question carefully. “Nothing exciting like you, young artist. Just a regular, old family business passed down from my father.”  
  
“It's better than being a starving artist,” Uruha comments, but Aoi refutes that quickly.  
  
“I feel like I have no purpose, you know.” Aoi says softly, suddenly, and Uruha's surprised by the quick change in mood, and how serious Aoi can get sometimes. “I feel like I never really had any direction.”  
  
Uruha keeps quiet, because he realises he _doesn't_ know what to say, when Aoi's spelt it out clearly for him. That's how I feel, too, Uruha thinks, and he lowers his eyes. But when I'm with you, all of that changes. All of that changes, because it suddenly feels like I have one, and I don't know why, either.  
  
“I feel like I only have a purpose when I'm with you,” Aoi continues, and Uruha feels his heart still.  
  
“ _Je suis en train de tomber amoureuse de vous_ ,” Uruha's voice lowers, quietly, and he reaches a hand out for Aoi's, interlacing their fingers with one another. A hint of hesitance flashes in Aoi's eyes immediately, and he almost pulls back, but he remains instead, stilling as he looks upon their hands. “I feel like you give me wings, like you're an angel in this lifetime of mine, for I've done something good in my past life.”  
  
Aoi snaps his eyes back to Uruha upon his words, shock sweeping over him. He tries his best to hide it upon realisation though, but his fingers curl against Uruha's cold ones as he does so.  
  
“When I was nineteen, someone told me he had been taking care of me my whole life,” Aoi admits softly, easing his eyes close. “Then he disappeared. He disappeared, because I had _killed_ him, Uruha. Because of me.”  
  
“No,” Uruha responds, because he knows the real reason doesn't lie with Aoi. Aoi would _never_ kill anyone. He thinks through his words carefully, realising that Aoi was _finally_ opening up a piece of heart to him in all the days that they've been together. “No, Aoi. Tell me what happened to him.”  
  
“I don't even know myself, ” Aoi's eyes flicker away, and Uruha has never seen that much sadness in anyone's eyes before. “He told me to look at the stars to find him, and I did find him, that very night, but then I couldn't find him anymore, after that. He was gone.”  
  
“He never went away,” Uruha comforts, and Aoi shivers at his very words, fluttering his eyes open once more. Because it suddenly felt like Kouyou was talking to him that very instant, telling him words he had needed to hear his whole life.  
  
“I feel like if he were to be real, he would be _you_.” Aoi breathes in deeply, beaming back at the blonde. “I feel like I know you, Uruha. I don't even know why, but I do. I feel like maybe he's trying to tell me something, that you are for me, and that he was always with me, waiting for me here, all along.”  
  
Uruha's lips curve into a small smile at that.  
  
“Be with me,” Uruha pleads, and Aoi finds himself withdrawing his fingers at that. “Because you make me feel like you are my very purpose in this life.”  
  
“Please don't fall in love with me,” Aoi chokes out, and Uruha realises the raven's on the verge of tears. He looks so beautiful, his fluttering eyes trying hard to blink the tear drops away, his dark orbs reddening yet gleaming so brightly at the same time. “I can't be with you.”  
  
“You love me,” Uruha says, and he reaches his hand out again, pulling the raven's fingers closer to him. “Time has brought your heart out to me, we're just one step closer to each other.”  
  
“I really can't,” Aoi sobs, even though he would give anything in the world to have known a person like Uruha and hear these words from him right now. But he knows he has his own life to tend to, Mizuki, and his son, and he can't afford for Uruha to fall in love with him, and he can't afford to give his heart out that easily, either. “You are _perfect_ , but I can't.”  
  
“Then you wouldn't have asked me out today,” and suddenly Uruha feels angry, because he _knows_ Aoi loves him so, yet he can't own up to his own feelings, and he can't give a reasonable explanation, too. “You wouldn't have said those things to me, and you wouldn't have made me feel so happy.”  
  
“I'm leaving tomorrow,” Aoi says, and Uruha finds his heart hardening in that mere second. “I'm leaving, so I wanted to spend my last day with you.”  
  
“Where are you going?” Uruha's throat constricts, his voice hoarse and raspy. Aoi can hear the distinctive heartbreak in his voice, and he feels _so_ sorry for that. “But I just met you.”  
  
“I have to get back to work,” Aoi reluctantly admits. “I have my own life to attend to.”  
  
“I could be a part of it,” Uruha whispers timidly, but he only feels his heart breaking further when Aoi shakes his head.  
  
“Could you take me for a cruise down the river?” Aoi asks, his fingers reaching up to his eyes casually to brush the tears away. “I hear the lights in Paris at night are beautiful.”  
  
Uruha hesitates, looking to the raven for a moment. Was his angel really leaving him in less than a day's time? So _this_ was all he had left to cling on to?  
  
“I would love to,” Uruha nods, and he caresses Aoi's palm as he does so, looking upon it with a disheartened smile.  
  
~  
  
Except they don't look at the lights, because throughout the whole boatride, they only have eyes for each other. When Aoi leans in for Uruha's touch, the blonde brings him against his chest, and carefully caresses his eyelids close, soothingly, painfully. When Uruha's lips fall against Aoi's, Aoi doesn't push him away, and circles his arms around the blonde, bringing him closer. Suddenly all of their doubts go away, somehow, and they really do feel one step closer to one another. Suddenly their hearts beat together, and the rest of reality doesn't matter, anymore.  
  
For the first time since he was nineteen, Aoi felt _brave._  
  
~  
  
_I will not let anything take away what's standing in front of me_  
  
~  
  
Uruha can feel his heart beating against Aoi's as he pushes the raven down against the bed, taking his time slowly to savour the raven with his lips on every inch of his skin. He doesn't want this moment to end too soon, and he _knows_ this may very well be the last time Aoi's touch will be against him, and he wants to much to hold onto this warmth, this soft skin rubbing against his. He tries hard to swallow the sadness down, instead trying to find the right passion to enjoy this one final gift Aoi will be leaving him, sweet memories of the beautiful raven arching into him.  
  
His hands roam down Aoi's body, peeling off the horrid buttons and many expensive layers Aoi has on to keep warm, and he's almost grateful that he isn't rich, because the sheer amount of clothing one has to put on is _surely_ frustrating. He laughs, though, when his hands stumble and he can't seem to get the buttons off right, and Aoi smiles, only to push the blonde back down and take his time to savour Uruha, instead.  
  
Uruha feels his heart flutter with every move Aoi makes, and every kiss he plants against Uruha's skin, his chest, his lower abdomen... He enters beyond ecstasy when Aoi lowers his tongue against his sensitive parts, and he groans when he feels Aoi's sweet, _sweet_ mouth swallowing him whole.  
  
Uruha finds himself holding onto every soft cry Aoi utters as he flips Aoi on his back and presses his fingers inside of him, preparing him gently for what is to come, and he shuts his eyes, wanting to remember this moment _forever_ , and the sound of Aoi's voice whispering his name desperately, the way his cheeks blush and his eyelids half-part, his moans coming out strangled, and meek.  
  
When Uruha pushes himself inside of Aoi as a whole, _finally_ , and their bodies are finally joined and _together_ , Uruha holds Aoi securely to his chest, holding him tight, and burying his head against his hair, breathing in the scent and memorising his heartbeat. Uruha almost allows the tears to fall now, but he doesn't, because he _cannot_ ruin this moment, and all he does is whisper sweet nothings into the other's ear, gently beginning to ride him as he does so.  
  
Uruha can hear nothing but Aoi whimpering in the silence, his nails scraping against Uruha's naked back painfully, panting in a rhythmic pace with every thrust Uruha brings to him. But he holds Uruha tight to him, as well, when he realises the same things Uruha has. I love you, Aoi murmurs, and he kisses and nibbles away at the blonde's earlobe, wishing he could hold onto this piece of gentle warmth forever.  
  
When Uruha feels that clench in his stomach, he hates himself for allowing himself to near climax so easily, when all he wants is to just remain here with Aoi, but he knows he has to let go sometime, and he brushes his fingers against the raven's hair, kissing the tip of his forehead as he does so. For this moment, Uruha whispers, his lips still against Aoi, we are together, and we'll always be. Aoi doesn't even have the time to respond, before Uruha bucks his hips and fastens their pace, eventually bringing the both of them to their release quickly.  
  
As Aoi falls against Uruha, the blonde lowers the both of them against the bedframe, and he wraps his arms around the raven, kissing him fervently on his eyelids. I love you, he mouthes, and Aoi nods, snuggling up to Uruha.  
  
“And all along I believed I would find you,” Aoi says softly, his lips morphing into a slight smile. “And I really did.”  
  
_Then don't leave_ , Uruha wants so much to cry out, but he knows he has no right to.  
  
“I have died everyday waiting for you,” Aoi says, and Uruha realises Aoi's finally crying, now. His tears are running, and the blonde hates to see that, because he knows he _will_ cry when he sees it, too. Uruha feels his nose swelling up, and he clears his throat, turning his head away from the raven.  
  
They don't speak any further, because there really is nothing to say when your hearts are breaking, and you know there is no more tomorrow. And they wait, as the hours pass, listening to each other's silent breath, until they fall asleep reluctantly in the arms of each, which will vanish soon enough.  
  
~  
  
When Uruha awakes, Aoi is gone.  
  
He can't help but let out a sob, and it takes him a second to realise that Aoi has left him a letter in his place.  
  
_To my angel_ , it reads, on the cover, and Uruha blinks the tears away. _I wanted to leave you a gift, but I didn't know what to. And I decided, maybe, this letter would do. I wrote this letter long ago, to the guardian angel of mine that never came back. Maybe you can read it, so maybe someone will finally know, and because I know Kouyou is in you, and then maybe Kouyou will read it, and he will know that I am fine, and he doesn't need to worry when he's gone. I won't have to worry about you, too, because Kouyou and Uruha are the same, and they will know that the Aoi they know will be fine, and will continue to love you._  
  
_Dear Kouyou,  
  
My name is Yuu. I know you, and I have read your letter. I am married, and I have children, now. Maybe this thought will kill you. But I hope you understand, I never did it because I wanted to. If anything, I would have loved you.  
  
And I guess it's better this way. But you know what? I would have children with you, and I know you would be the best parent to them. I have never loved anyone else the way I feel for you. I know I don't know you, but I always wished I could. I always wished I did. I wish I could have felt you with me, your lips on me, taking care of me. Now I know why bad things never happened to me, and now I know why I used to be insane when I was a child. Hah, but it doesn't matter now.  
  
I may have forgotten you, but your letter will always remain by my side. Your last gift is enough, because it tells me everything I have never known. Your star is enough, but I have never seen it a second time. I don't know why; maybe I just have forgotten it, or maybe Heaven has taken you one second time. Sometimes I wonder if you are still here, sometimes I wonder if you are still watching over me. But then I laugh, because I know I am foolish for even questioning that. I know you are. I know you will.  
  
Heaven may be cruel to us, but I hope that in our next life time, we will meet, and our hearts will beat. Maybe I will finally see you, and maybe you will finally touch me, again. Maybe my brightest star will come back, afterall. Even someone I've never met, someone that has been erased. Maybe your mortal will always be around. Even someone you've long forgotten, someone who has taken time away. Maybe hearts will still beat, and fingers will still intertwine; and maybe people who lose each other... never really do lose each other.  
  
And all along I believed, I would find you.  
  
I have died everyday, waiting for you.  
  
I will recognise you, because you have guided me. I will hold you close to my heart and never forget.  
  
I love you.  
  
See you next lifetime, Kouyou._  
  
~  
  
_Epilogue_  
  
Uruha can't concentrate on his work when he gets to the bar, breaking glasses with each passing moment and tripping over chairs every now and then. He only halts momentarily in his furious wiping of the tables when he sees someone entering the lonesome pub, and realises it's Reita, his other work partner. Uruha hurriedly wipes at his reddened eyes, afraid for him to notice, but he realises something is different with the other brunette, now. He's deliriously happy, a wide smile etched on his face.  
  
“Hey, Uru!” Reita greets, and then gives a rough, friendly slap on his back. “Guess what? I'm quitting the job!”  
  
_What_? Uruha turns to him with a startled look, but he doesn't need to question further, because now Reita is off yabbering on his reasons already.  
  
“You know how I was just like you? I used to work endlessly at this stupid bar, watching the days drag on, having nothing to look forward to. But I had a secret passion, Ruha. I loved the bass. I wanted _nothing_ more than to be a bassist... and you know how I keep skipping out on shifts nowadays? Well, I've been doing gigs secretly, and now I've finally done it! I've finally signed a contract on with a band!”  
  
Uruha laughs at that, surprisingly calm from the piece of news, and he tries to feel happy for the other man, although he still feels an aching in his heart.  
  
“So... why are you telling me all of these?” Uruha chuckles, trying to sniff the heartache away. “Not like I'm like you, you know.”  
  
“Well, you got to have a _purpose_ in life, right?” Reita gives him a strange look, and shrugs his shoulders. “Well, mate, I just wanted to tell you to stop wasting your time 'round here cleaning up empty tables and washing up glasses and getting your ass drunk on all these untouched liquor! Think _deeper_ , Uru... Don't you have a dream? Something you want so badly in your life, something that re-ignites that fire in you? Something that gives you _wings_?”  
  
Uruha stills for that very second, his hands shaking, his heart throbbing. He knows that answer very clearly, but he doesn't want to own up to it. Just like how Aoi hadn't owned up to it. Just like how Aoi... Uruha finds his hands curling into fists now, angry. No, he wasn't going to be like the raven. He wasn't going to be like him, he wasn't going to leave the both of them in this mess. He wasn't going to let anything take that _purpose_ away, because Aoi was different, and they both _needed_ each other, in a way that was still foreign and strange to the blonde, but he was _taking_ it.  
  
“I...” Uruha hesitates, but he clears his mind quickly, clears that hesitance instantly. He knows what he has to do now, and he doesn't want anything to pull him back no longer. “I have to go, Reita.”  
  
And as he dashes out of the club, Reita gives a haughty laugh, leaning against the counter, reaching for a glass of liquor himself.  
  
“Go get 'em, Ruha!”  
  
~  
  
Uruha's yelling out now, running around the busy airport with his canvas in hand. He knows he may come across as insane, but he knows nothing else matters right now. All he needs is to know Aoi is here, and that he finds him before his flight. Uruha doesn't know when and where Aoi is leaving to, but he just needs to see his eyes again, feel his breath on him, and hold him once more. That'd be enough, Uruha cries out, and he yells for Aoi one more time, desperately scanning his eyes around the crowded hall.  
  
“Aoi, please,” Uruha sobs, and he's down on his knees now, clutching the painting of his angel against his chest. “Please, _please_ , tell me you're here.” Because nothing else matters, more than knowing that the raven is here, and that he will be back to him once again, and then maybe hearts will still beat, and fingers will still intertwine; and maybe people who lose each other... never really do lose each other. He still isn't sure about Kouyou, or Uruha, but he knows that there _definitely_ was something inside of him that was yearning for the raven, and though he doesn't exactly know what, he wants to satisfy it, he wants to grab for that one dream he has left. He hadn't been able to accomplish the other, but this time he didn't want to let this one go.  
  
_One_  
  
“I thought I told you to wait for our next lifetime,” and as Uruha looks up, he realises it's Aoi again, standing before him, a hand cupped over his lips, laughing as tears wet his cheeks.  
  
“I couldn't wait,” Uruha says, and he's so _so_ grateful Aoi hasn't left yet; he rushes up to the raven in an instant, enveloping him in a tight embrace. “Could you fast-forward the time, please? I can't wait, Aoi. I can't wait that long.”  
  
_Step_  
  
“Is that Kouyou speaking, or Uruha?” Aoi laughs, and he grips the blonde close to him. “I don't make exceptions that easily, you know.”  
  
“Both love you,” Uruha whispers, and he buries his head against his shoulders, fluttering his eyes shut. “Take me, Aoi.”  
  
Aoi smiles, and he leans his head against his. “Okay,” the raven says, even as impossible as that sounds, even as difficult the road may be. But they'll work through it, because now his guardian angel will take care of him, and bring him the piece of heart back he's stolen. “Maybe my brightest star came back, afterall.” and he laughs, holding on to Uruha, this time, for _forever_.   
  
_Closer._


End file.
